


2:13am

by viewofnassau



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Driving, M/M, Post-Canon, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viewofnassau/pseuds/viewofnassau
Summary: “You doing alright?” Richie asks.“Yeah, I’m good. The quiet’s kind of nice.”“Yeah, it is.”Again, Eddie waits for him to add something else: a joke, an anecdote, an observation, but again, there’s just silence. And Eddie doesn’t mind it that way.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	2:13am

Gas station. 2:13am. Eddie’s temple leaning against the passenger window, the fluorescent flood lights and neon logos casting distorted ghosts in the puddles speckling the concrete. His gaze is fixed on the glass doors sitting between the ice box and the empty vending machine as he waits for Richie to step back outside.

The gas prices on the meter are too high for how far out they are. It’s been nothing but patchwork farmhouses and scrap lots for over an hour. Richie insisted on taking the scenic route, but since they started driving three hours after sunset, there wasn’t all that much to see. Still, it reminds Eddie of all those drives they used to take after Richie got his license. Dark nights drifting through the fields, open windows, no music, something invigorating in how alone they were. Like they were daring the world to care about them.

Eddie’s eyes begin to close, but they snap open again when Richie walks out of the station, a plastic bag in one hand and keys in the other. Eddie trails him as he walks across the lot, a sudden shiver rattling his teeth as he registers just how cold the car’s gotten after only a couple minutes with no heat.

“I got you some water,” Richie says after stepping into the driver’s side and turning the ignition. “And Mobil stations aren’t exactly renowned for their allergen-free cuisine, but they had some dried fruit if you want some.”

Richie digs through the bag and hands over a bottle of Evian and a small bag of what looks to be a mix of apricots and raisins.

They used to eat trail mix on their drives as kids, packed full of nuts that Eddie can no longer eat. Or will no longer eat.

He takes both offerings, giving a short thanks before flexing his back and cracking his neck, wincing as a sharp spasm grips the tight rope of muscle leading to his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about staying awake,” Richie says, unscrewing a bottle of Dr. Pepper and letting the air hiss out. “I’m good to keep driving.”

He takes a couple swigs, and Eddie watches his Adam’s apple move.

He wants to stay awake. He should be talking. They still have so much shit to catch up on. But if they start talking, then it’ll have to end at some point, and Eddie’s not ready for such a clean break. Just like how those long drives as kids always came to an end, even though they’d sometimes stay out until they barely had enough gas to get back home.

Gas was cheaper back then. They could drive all night and barely dent their part-time wages. Now gas is so expensive that Eddie feels obligated to chip in even though Richie made three million on his last tour.

Eddie watches Richie’s hands as he rotates the steering wheel, pulling them out of the lot and back onto the dark road, a never-ending stretch of serpentine white lines extending out in front of them. Richie smells like cigarette smoke. Not fresh, but it’s there. In his jacket. His hair. Back in high school he said he’d stop smoking before he hit twenty-five. That it wasn’t even cool once you got old anyway. Just sad.

“You doing alright?” Richie asks.

Eddie waits for a follow-up, but it seems that’s all there is.

“Yeah, I’m good. The quiet’s kind of nice.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Again, Eddie waits for him to add something else: a joke, an anecdote, an observation, but again, there’s just silence. And Eddie doesn’t mind it that way.

They’ve talked enough over the last three days. They’ve ranted and bickered, laughed and teased, the words seemed to run deeper than the earth as they caught up on all they missed. Filled in the blanks of who they became. And now they’ve earned the quiet. The isolation. The intimacy of being the only people on this lonely stretch of road, occasionally passing through small towns with little more than a post office, a restaurant, and a set of railway tracks that have probably been out of service for a generation.

How does Eddie convey to Richie that this is the happiest he’s felt in years?

The quiet. The road. The damp chill against the windows. Air fresher than he’s breathed in a very long time. And the awareness that this extended moment is drawing to a close with each passing mile, bringing him closer to a place he doesn’t want to be.

They pass a sign that tells them the border of Connecticut is still thirty miles away. They still have time. Eddie can sink his teeth into this dense patch of time and make something out of it, but he has no illusion that he’ll ever taste it again.

Some moments are meant to be irreplicable. So instead of crying about it, he just stares out the window and traces the outline of the hills, curving like waves as the landscape drifts by. A small pattering of rain hits the windshield, and Richie doesn’t complain when he rolls down the window to catch a few droplets on his hand. The rain in the city leaves you feeling clammy and soiled. Not like the rain in Derry, which always felt clean right up until it hit the ground and slithered into the sewers.

He drifts in and out of sleep, his head lolled against the window, jolting awake every few minutes whenever they hit a pothole or pass a street light, then drifting off again, his sleep not deep enough to dream, yet still alert enough to sense time. More peaceful than he’s felt in years. Peace like opening your eyes on a weekend morning with nowhere to be. He wonders if Richie can feel it too. He used to love driving. He’d keep driving forever if Eddie let him. Window down, elbow out, so in his element that Eddie always felt guilty for making him turn back around.

Eddie turns his head just to watch him finish the last of his Dr. Pepper and wipe a sleeve across his mouth, his face barely lit from the glow of the buttons on the monitor and the offshoot of the headlights.

He looks beautiful. And Eddie’s afraid he may never see him this way again.

“Twenty more miles,” Richie says, causing Eddie to bolt up straight, unaware that he dozed off again.

“Till what?”

“Till we hit the New York border.”

Eddie’s eyes dart out the window in a panic. The fields and hills are gone. They’re back on the highway, cars on either side, houses with terrible property values lining the ridges, and Eddie feels like he just woke up from an amazing dream right before getting to the best part, now frustrated at everything he missed.

“So what’s the plan? Should I just drop you off at your place?”

Eddie goes rigid at the thought. Richie doesn’t even know where “his place” is. There’s an address he doesn’t want to share. He doesn’t want Richie to see him that way. As someone who exists in the real world, detached from all those memories. A regular person with a house and a bad roof and a lawn he didn't even want. He’s not exactly sure how he wants Richie to see him, but it’s definitely not the person he was three days ago.

“Hey, you want to get a hotel?” Eddie almost whispers, and maybe his words were buried under the roar of the motorcycle that just passed Richie’s window.

“Really? But we’re almost there? I’m good to keep going.”

“No, I mean, a hotel in the city. Together.”

Richie barely shifts, but the reflection of the surrounding headlights seem to hit his glasses at a different angle.

It’s weird, but for some reason, Eddie knows he’ll say yes. Just like all those times driving across Maine as kids. It always hung between them. All those nights on the road. If Eddie told him to pull over and kiss him, he knows Richie would’ve said yes.

“Yeah. I know a good one,” Richie says, turning to give Eddie a small smile before shifting his eyes back to the road, his expression radiant in the passing lights.


End file.
